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“Eliza? Wow. Long time no see.”
“Cora? I didn’t know you still worked here. How nice to run into you.” Her family owned the pub, and she’d worked here off and on when we were at school together.
“I don’t usually, but we had a couple servers call off, so my da begged me to come in. Would you mind if I sat for a minute?” She patted her protruding stomach. “I don’t remember being this tired with my first two.”
“How fabulous. Boys? Girls? One of each?”
“One of each, thankfully. So, Tim and I don’t care what we have another of. Either way, this is the last.”
“Tim Warren?” Cora and Tim had been together since we were teens.
“Yes, Tim.” Her smile was as broad as if they’d just met. “We’ve been married eight years now. It seems longer at times, and at others, I can’t believe how quickly it’s gone by.”
“You look very happy.”
“I am. What about you?” She touched my hand. “No ring?”
I laughed. “Not even a prospect.”
She glanced behind me and waved. “I’m needed, luv, but you’re my table, so what do you fancy?”
I ordered a pint and told her I was meeting Niven. My mobile vibrated just as she walked away.
Running late. Will you be all right? his message said.
How have I forgotten you’re always late? And yes, I’m perfectly fine.
I’ll see if I can step out of my meeting. Be there as soon as I can.
I didn’t mind, honestly. Being away from my flat and out in public felt good, even if alone. I pulled a pencil from my bag and began doodling on the white butcher paper that covered each of the tables. They also provided crayons, but they looked so well-used that there was little left to them.
While figuring out my studio, I had an idea pop into my head for a piece I thought I’d start out with. It would be abstract, made from bronze, brass, and copper. To create it, I’d use a lost-wax casting, which meant I’d make what was referred to as a sacrificial wax model, then use clay to build a mold around it. When the clay was fired, it would harden, while the wax inside would melt away. Then I’d pour molten bronze into the mold, break away the clay, then finish the piece with brass and copper.
As I sketched out the size I wanted the two intertwined pieces to be, I laughed out loud. I might be able to use the studio in my flat to paint, but the kind of three-dimensional art I preferred would take another space entirely.
“What is it?” I heard a man’s voice ask from behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder, then back at my drawing, thinking I had to be seeing things again. He stepped beside me, and I looked up into the gray eyes of my mystery man.
“It’s abstract.” My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat. “Sculpture.”
He cocked his head and took another look. “I see two figures, perhaps dancing. Then again, they might be making love.” His gaze traveled from my drawing, up my torso to my eyes. “Have we met?”
“I, uh, don’t believe so. I mean, no.”
He half smiled, but enough that dimples formed on either side of his mouth. I wanted to lick them.
“May I?” he asked, motioning to the seat on my right. “Or are you waiting for someone?”
“Yes. I mean, no. But yes.”
He studied me.
“Yes, you may take the seat. And yes, I am waiting for someone, but just one person. There weren’t any tables for two available when I arrived.” I glanced around the room. “Or now.”
“You also said no.”
“I did?” If it wouldn’t be more mortifying than my unintelligible stammering, I’d fan my face. In my fantasies, my mystery man was Italian. Or maybe Greek. While he was English, his voice was no less sultry. “I’ve no idea why I said it.”